


Good Morning Malcolm

by Artifex_Verbum



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Hallucinations, M/M, Pseudo-Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-13 00:02:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28519056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Artifex_Verbum/pseuds/Artifex_Verbum
Summary: Malcolm can't escape Martin - not even in the solitude of his own mind.
Relationships: Malcolm Bright & Martin Whitly, Malcolm Bright/Martin Whitly
Comments: 7
Kudos: 36





	Good Morning Malcolm

Malcolm was in bed on his stomach, nose against his soft pillow. It smelled of his shampoo, and vaguely of sweat and fabric softener. He gulped - glued into place. A shiver started in his scalp and ran down his spine. 

He didn’t move and wondered if he even could.

A weight pressed against his back and he managed to shove down a moan before it could reach his lips.

“I - I don’t want you here,” he said weakly even as his arousal gained.

“I don’t think that’s true Malcolm,” that familiar syrup and gravel voice gritted into his right ear. 

The sound rumbled through the profiler like an earthquake, trembling beneath his skin. His whole body wanted to shake with it, but he confined the tremor to his left hand. 

The weight on Malcolm’s back felt crushing and his over analytical mind took the opportunity to relish how metaphorically satisfying that was. Of course Martin Whitly was crushing him, stealing his air, robbing him of his privacy, holding him hostage. 

Even tethered to a wall and wrapped in chains, the good doctor could usually hold Malcolm captive with nothing more than his words. It was embarrassing. 

So how much worse was this then? Martin free, in his bed, molding his body against his son’s back. 

He smelled like cheap Claremont-issued soap, Bounce, and aftershave. 

Malcolm squirmed beneath him and wondered why he felt bereft at the loss of Martin’s normal scent. What did he used to smell like when Malcolm was a child and he had hugged him for the last time? He struggled to remember and wondered why it suddenly seemed so important to remember.

But he couldn’t.

“Sweet Malcolm,” Martin’s breath felt so hot against the shell of his ear. “You’re being so quiet.” 

“What do you want me to say? The only thing I have to offer is that I want you to get off me.”

“Are you sure?” Martin rocked against his back and Malcolm opened his mouth against his pillow. He felt the hot insistence prodding at his ass.

A cherry red heat had bloomed across Malcolm’s chest and raced up his neck to color his cheeks. His own erection was digging into his mattress and shame bubbled and roiled in his chest. 

His own father should not turn him on. The thought - just forming the words enough to think them - made his throat constrict and acid rise to his tongue. 

‘Disgusting. You’re depraved. Deplorable. What’s wrong with you? You’re sick,’ he mercilessly hurled insults and judgements at himself but it didn’t make the blood in his cock recede.

“I think you want this more than anything my boy,” Martin purred, letting his hands slide over Malcolm’s arms, making gooseflesh rise in his fingertips wake. “I think you get hard when you visit me, hell, I think you get hard just hearing the jingle of handcuffs.”

“You don’t know anything,” the words sounded flimsy.

“Don’t I? You don’t think I know that you go to clubs looking for bears with gray hair and beards? Men with my build who can ram you with their cocks while you scream out ‘Daddy?’”

“Ah, f-fuck,” Malcolm wriggled, which only made things worse. He didn’t even put thought into the fact that he’d drawn his cheeks together to try and feel Martin’s erection better, to pull him in. 

“But they just don’t do it for you Malcolm.” Martin nuzzled the hair at the back of his neck and Malcolm groaned. “You can scream “Daddy” until your throat is raw, you can spear yourself on them at both ends, but every. single. time. you leave feeling dissatisfied because they’re not me. They’ll never be me, Malcolm.”

“Stop,” his mouth says, even as his back arches.

“You think whoring around with them will stop you from careening towards the inevitable, but it won’t.” 

“It will. It will have to do.”

“It won't do. You know what you want, what you need. You’re going to let me fuck you Malcolm.”

“No...I-I’m not. I won’t. It’s wrong.”

“You will and you know it.”

“I can’t.”

“You can,” Martin’s lips meet the back of his boy’s neck and Malcolm would jump if he had the leeway. 

“I...I don’t even know if you’d reciprocate.”

“Oh Malcolm,” he feigned with an indignant scoff, “you *know* that I would reciprocate.”

Bright’s hands fisted into his own sheets and he struggled to steady his breathing. Panic knocked at his ribcage but he tried to ignore it. He couldn’t stand his father and he couldn’t stand himself for wanting him.

“That’s why the hallucinations have gotten so bad, isn’t it? Because you keep fighting it. You’re trying to shove down your desires, to ignore your nature, and it’s only serving to unravel you even faster.”

“God, please shut up, please go away…”

“How are you even going to look me in the eye today when you visit?” the hallucination at his back taunted. “I see the way you try to avoid my gaze but fail. The way your pink tongue pokes out to wet your lips when you think I’m not looking.”

“Dad…”

“Ah, no, that’s not quite it, that’s not what you want to call me.”

“I only come to you to…”

“To what? Solve cases?” Martin cuts him off. “Right...he huffs a disbelieving laugh that shakes them both. “You know damn well that you don’t need to come. You didn’t come to me when you worked for the FBI...so what? It’s proximity? Now that you’re with the NYPD and I’m in New York, you need my help?” he pfffted a breath against the join of Malcolm’s neck and shoulder. 

“You come because you want to. Because you’re my little boomerang. You come because we’re the same.”

“We’re not the same. I’m not a killer.”

“I never said you were. But that doesn’t mean that we’re not the same. Your appetite may be different but it is undoubtedly dark.”

“You don’t know…”

“I do know...because I’m you Malcolm. I’m your hallucination. And that’s another reason why you’re so unsatisfied.”

“Why?” 

“Because although you’re having more hallucinations and they’re more vivid than ever...you still don’t know what my cock looks like...what it feels like. So even your hallucinations of me leave you frustrated.”

“Dr. Whitly…”

“So you’ve tried to imagine my fingers, thick and skilled, pulling you apart.” 

“Gah...no…” Malcolm put his face directly into his pillow and brought his hands to cover his ears, but it didn’t matter.

“I’ve seen your dreams and they’re lewd and obscene and incestuous,” Martin licked at the thumb forming a weak barrier over Malcolm’s ear. “Those dreams started so long ago...so did the daydreams...and now hallucinations? This can only end one way,” he rocked into him. “You’re too ashamed to even tell your therapist.”

“I can’t...she wouldn’t...understand. She’d never look at me the same way again,” he came up for air and to answer himself, which he knew was ridiculous.

“Is that why you haven’t told her? Or is it because you don’t really *want* to fix this...sickness?” 

“I do want to fix it!”

“With my cock, you do.”

“Please stop.”

“How desperately you want to sit on my lap as I’m at my desk.”

“Dr. Whitly…”

“Or have me grab your throat and slam you against my bookshelf, flipping you so fast that you’d nearly break your nose on a shelf. I’d undo your pants and shove my fingers into you with nothing more than spit on them…”

“M-Martin…” Malcolm’s breath was rapid and his head felt light.

“I’d split you open on my cock with so little preparation that you’d scream. Oh how I’d like that...your pretty little face twisted up in agony, the sound of your shout bouncing off those cinderblock walls. I’d fuck you so hard that the books would start falling from the shelves. The possibilities are endless really.”

“Dad…”

“I could get you on your knees, wrap my tether around your neck like a leash and make you suck me off.”

A high, desperate whine ripped from Malcolm’s throat. He was now actively humping his bed. Blindly, he moved to touch himself, but Martin held his wrists fast up by his head.

“I’m going to make you come now as I would then...no hands...nothing in your ass or touching your dick.”

“Please...I need relief…” tears formed at his eyes.

“Relief? That’s what you need? Because five minutes ago, you needed me to stop and get off of you,” Martin rolled his hips into Malcolm’s ass. “That’s your problem my boy, indecision. Denying what you want. Trying to fit into conventionality when you’re exceptional.”

“Wanting to fuck my own f-,” he stopped and swallowed. “Wanting to fuck you doesn’t make me exceptional. It makes me sick.”

“And who better to understand that sickness than me?” Martin bit and kissed the knob at his spine.

“I want to string you up and watch you bleed Malcolm. I want to see your cock twitch with every beat of your heart because it’s so heavy and swollen between your legs…your balls aching for release. Oh how you would plead and beg and cry.”

“I- ah…” Malcolm was reduced to babbling and humping his bed.

“Your mouth was made to suck my cock.” 

“Dad…”

“Say my name Malcolm…”

“No, uh…”

“I’ll wrap my hands around your neck as I fuck your mouth so deep that I can feel my own cock distending your skin.” 

“Stop!”

“Never,” he growled feral, his grasp painful. “I'll never stop. YOU'RE MINE. NOW SAY IT!”

“Daddy,” he finally relented and shouted as he began to come all over his bedsheets. The tears that had formed at his crystal eyes began falling down his hot cheeks as he emptied himself on his bed. The moment lasted and lasted as his body shook and his muscles contracted.

When it was over and he was spent, he lay there in his own come as his cock softened. Malcolm screwed his eyes shut and swallowed. 

That familiar buzz at the base of his skull that told him he was hallucinating had gone. The force of the orgasm had shoved Martin back into the box in the subconscious cellar where he belonged. 

Bright screwed his head around and looked behind him. There was no one - nothing. 

He ought to have been relieved, but he wasn’t. 

Things had gotten bad. 

So bad. 

So remarkably bad that he actually wished Martin *had* been there, pressing his cock against his ass. 

Was this his mind’s way of trying to work through his twisted arousal towards Dr. Whitly? Why were the hallucinations getting so bad? 

He didn’t know what to do anymore, all he knew was that this was unsustainable. He was exhausted and his psyche was beyond fractured. What would he say to his therapist? How would he face his father in Claremont this afternoon? 

Slowly, Malcolm sat up and undid his cuffs. It was the cuffs that had held his wrists, not his father’s hands. 

He sat there on his knees, naked, staring at the wet spot in his bed and silently crying. 

The hallucination was his own mind, echoing the things that he tried to dare not think. There was no point in arguing with it or fighting it. 

There was no point in fighting what he wanted.

Maybe…

Maybe he should tell his...Dr. Whitly...about this. Despite being the object of his sinful desires, he was a medical professional. 

Deep down though, he knew that Martin would delight in this information. He would feign helping his boy only to use the situation to his advantage. He would do whatever he could to deepen the ties that bound him and his son. 

Plus, Malcolm knew that the doctor already knew. He had to. 

He was a man starved of human interaction, hyper fixated on his son. And he was not a dumb man. He had seen the way Malcolm looked at him and thrown those looks right back. A coy smile, the swipe of his tongue, the mischievous twinkle in his eye. He paced his cage like an animal who knew that mealtime was coming. 

Malcolm was coming and he would be ready for the taking.


End file.
